


Biting the Bullet

by jinlin5



Series: Husbands and Shit [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Domestic Mickey Milkovich, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Pain, Parents Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Post-Season/Series 10, the tiniest bit of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlin5/pseuds/jinlin5
Summary: The kid had an attitude. Mickey would have found it impressive for a two year old, if he didn’t have to be the one to put up with her shit during Ian’s brutally long work shifts away from home.“It’s a good thing I fuckin’ love her,” Mickey had grunted ominously on more than one occasion, usually after he and Ian had finally collapsed on the couch after a two hour screaming fit brought on by the mere mention of bedtime. This statement would typically be followed by something like, “Had an easier time settin’ goddamn violent criminals straight in the joint.”_______Or, Mickey Milkovich thinks he can pull a fast one on his devious daughter, and things go awry (as expected). What is Ian going to do with them??
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Husbands and Shit [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713814
Comments: 7
Kudos: 116





	Biting the Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> Introducing Moni! My take on the Ian and Mickey's adoptive daughter :)  
> This takes place about four years after the end of season 10, and although I do have a backstory for how Moni came into their lives, I have not quite gotten around to writing it. That being said, all that is important for you to know for the purposes of this story is that Moni is their frustratingly lovable baby girl and she hates baths with a passion (sound like anyone else we know?)
> 
> Chapter One is all Moni and Mickey, with only a little bit of Ian  
> Chapter Two will be more from Ian's POV!
> 
> (P.s. Thank you so so much to camnoelgallavich for taking the time to read and edit this for me! Love you lots!)
> 
> Happy reading! :)

Moni Gallagher-Milkovich was a particularly troublesome toddler, to say the least. 

Mickey had to remind himself at least ten times a day that the little hell-raiser didn’t actually carry any of his DNA; which made the kid’s shenanigans even more bewildering. Naptime was a battle ground and bedtime was a fucking war zone. All of her food ended up on the floor one way or another, and Mickey was convinced she would rather die than pick up the toys that were systematically scattered around the apartment at all times. 

The kid had an  _ attitude _ . Mickey would have found it impressive for a two year old, if he didn’t have to be the one to put up with her shit during Ian’s brutally long work shifts away from home.

“It’s a good thing I fuckin’ love her,” Mickey had grunted ominously on more than one occasion, usually after he and Ian had finally collapsed on the couch after a two hour screaming fit brought on by the mere mention of bedtime. This statement would typically be followed by something like, “Had an easier time settin’ goddamn  _ violent criminals _ straight in the joint.”

And Ian would just laugh and laugh at him, on the verge of exhausted hysteria, because he knew for a fact that Mickey was barely exaggerating. 

————————————————————————

That particular morning, Mickey had been stirred awake a good hour before the ass-crack of dawn by his husband’s not so subtle maneuvering around the room, as he shimmed into his EMT uniform and rifled through their bedside table until he found his meds. 

“Better eat something before ya take off,” the thug murmured into his drool dampened pillow, cracking one eye open and groaning upon seeing that the alarm clock read 4:47 am. The numbers glowed a fluorescent green in the dim room. Taunting him. 

“Already did,” Ian replied around a mouthful of pills and Gatorade. He kneeled onto the mattress and stretched his long torso across the bed until he reached Mickey’s splayed body, which had subconsciously claimed the newly vacated space the minute Ian had rolled out of it. “You gotta start nagging the second you wake up… or...?” 

Mickey raised a lazy hand to swat at the man, but Ian ducked and avoided it easily, dipping down to place a wet peck on his husband’s cheekbone. 

“I’ve gotta run,” Mickey registered the whisper inches above his ear, “Make sure you give the kid a bath today. I know she’s gonna throw a fit, but she needs one or else she’s gonna start smellin like a corpse, and the neighbours’ll call CPS on us.”

“Like to see ‘em fuckin try it,” Mickey snorted defiantly into the pillow, remaining barely conscious despite the conversation. 

One last kiss was pressed to his forehead, before Mickey felt his husband’s presence retreat from his side. “Love you, Mick. Have a good day off, I’ll see you tonight!” With that he was gone from the doorway, and moments later Mickey heard the front door creak shut and lock with a  _ thunk _ . 

Thankfully, he was able to sink back into unconsciousness for a couple of sweet, uninterrupted hours. Mickey had always been a light sleeper; a trait born out of necessity; and so when 7:00 am rolled around, the sound of Moni’s babbling and the squeaking of the crib had jarred him from slumber. Mickey choked on the tail end of a snore as all systems came back online. 

“Paaapaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” The little voice sounded from the room next to him, echoing in the otherwise silent space of the apartment. Mickey righted himself in bed slowly, rubbing his eyes deeper into their sockets with the heel of his palms. A yawn ripped its way out of him, making his eyes water like a faucet. So fuckin’ much for sleeping in on his day off. Not that he had really been expecting to. Much like Ian, Moni was definitely a morning person and once she was up, Mickey didn’t have a choice but to be awake. 

It seemed he was lingering a bit too long for the toddler’s tastes. 

“PAPAAAAAAA!” She screeched, and Mickey swore profusely as he threw the comforter off of him and lurched up off the mattress. Picking the cleanest items off of the floor, he blearily struggled into a loose fitting pair of boxers (Ian’s, he figured, but he didn’t have the time or patience to give a shit) and a soft grey t-shirt which by some miracle only had one unidentifiable stain on the front. 

All the while Moni’s complaints were increasing in both volume and intensity. 

“PAPA PAPA PAPA PAPA PAPA-“

“Christ, kid, Chill out! I’m comin’!” Mickey stalked around the corner with a frustrated huff, still pulling one arm through the sleeve of the t-shirt. When he entered her bedroom, the little girl was upright in her crib, clinging to the bars; a prisoner begging to be freed. 

The majority of the annoyance Mickey had been harbouring melted away when he saw her there - bright eyes, wispy blond ringlets sticking up in every conceivable direction, wearing nothing but Toy Story pull-ups and a toothy smile. It got him every time. 

“Hi Papa,” Moni beamed, clearly pleased with the fact that her father had responded so promptly to her calls. 

“Morning monkey,” Mickey greeted softly, shambling to the opposite side of the tiny room where Moni’s crib was, adjacent to the bed Yevgeny slept in during his visits. 

It bothered Mickey more than he let on that he couldn’t set his kids up with their own rooms. Their little apartment only had one spare room, and for the time being they were too poor to afford something bigger - although he and Ian were putting away a small sliver from each paycheck for just that purpose. It was only a matter of time, he knew, until Moni and Yev would both be too big and  _ hormonal _ to share the space without wanting to tear eachother to fucking shreds, and Ian often tried to reassure him that “ _ being crammed in a room with your siblings is goddamn character building, Mick. Look at me, I turned out fine _ !”

When Mickey reached the crib, he scooped the toddler up in his arms and pressed his lips to the top of her head, burying his nose into her frizzy curls. Moni wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged into him ferociously as if she hadn’t seen him in  _ eons _ .

“You sleep good?” Mickey asked the little girl once she pulled away from him, to which Moni nodded, an exaggerated up and down movement that made Mickey chuckle.

“Well that’s good,” he conceded, hefting her onto his hip and taking a few steps towards the window beside the crib, shifting open the curtains. He let the late July sun ripple through the windows, shielding his eyes with his hand for a moment in order to adjust to the blinding light. Mickey could already tell by how humid the apartment was that it was going to be a fucking brutally hot day - for Chicago, at any rate.

Moni burrowed quickly into the crook of Mickey’s neck, trying her best to avoid the sunlight. “Papa I’m hungryyyy…” she whined into his neck. 

“Ohhhh, ‘s that why you woke me up so early? Well that’s just not gonna fly, huh?” Mickey poked a finger into her side, causing the toddler to giggle and squirm. He swiveled away from the window and headed to the beat up little dresser that contained all of her clothes, the majority of which were hand-me-down’s from Veronica, Debbie and even some of Ian’s co-workers. 

It was a good thing the women in their lives had no shortage of outgrown clothing. Mickey never had any idea of what the kid would like. Every time he and Ian went clothes shopping at Good-will, he made an effort to pick out a few items he figured Moni would look especially _ badass _ (read: cute) in, and the little girl would scream ‘NO’, drawing all of her limbs tightly into her stroller, refusing to even let him try them on her. Mickey had taken to just letting her pick out her own clothes in the morning. She came up with some pretty wild combinations, but he had long since decided that anything other than buck-ass naked was good enough. 

“Let’s pick out some clothes and then we can get some grub!” Mickey announced to the toddler, who mercifully seemed to agree to this trade without much prompting.  _ Thank fuck _ , Mickey thought to himself. Maybe Moni would behave herself today after all.

______________________________________________________________________

Then again, maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

When Mickey had succeeded in dressing the kid in the obnoxious lime green t-shirt and bright pink - yes, pink - shorts she had picked out, he carried her down the narrow hallway and into the kitchen. The smell of coffee invaded his senses about halfway down the hallway, and Mickey reminded himself to text Ian a ‘ _ thank you _ ’ for having enough foresight to set the coffee pot to brew before he left for work. 

After a five minute back and forth that consisted of Mickey babbling some stupid shit in parent-ese and Moni repeatedly saying ‘ _ no _ ’ like it was the only word in her damn vocabulary, the man eventually managed to get Moni settled into her highchair. He tugged gently on the straps fastened around her, just to make sure they were secure and the little gremlin wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of them no matter how hard she tried. Once he was satisfied that she wasn’t going anywhere, Mickey set the high-chair tray down in it’s grooves and snapped it into place, sealing the toddler in for the time being. His final task to reign in his unruly daughter was to clasp a bib around her neck, and then Mickey could reward himself with coffee. 

“What’ll it be today, hm?” Mickey asked his daughter from the opposite side of the kitchen as he tilted the coffee pot, letting the stream of hot liquid splash against the bottom of his mug. 

“Cheerios!” Moni crowed, rocking side to side in her highchair, as if purposefully trying to tip it over. One day she would be heavy enough to succeed when he wasn’t looking, and Mickey was sure Ian would have to put his experience as an EMT to good use. 

“Cheerios?” Mickey brought the coffee cup to his lips and inhaled deeply before taking a sip, immediately starting to feel more alert the minute the caffeine entered his system. “Really, Mon? Again?” 

Moni had been asking for cheerios every morning for the last two weeks. Ian had bought the gigantic family value pack last time he had been shopping and Mickey was starting to think that had been a mistake because despite tempting her with eggs, toast and even fucking  _ waffles  _ (with syrup and shit), the child couldn’t seem to get enough of her cereal. Again this morning, Moni was adamant about the cheerios, so Mickey rolled his eyes and downed half of the coffee in his cup before grabbing one of his daughter's little plastic bowls from the cupboard and preparing her breakfast.

She began chowing down like a starving child the moment Mickey set the bowl in front of her, and placed the tiny spoon in her hand. Milk sloshed over the sides of the bowl and half of the cheerios in each spoonful ended up down the front of her bib instead of in her mouth. All Mickey could do was open his lips in silent laughter and take a seat beside her at the table, running his tattooed fingers through Moni’s curls as she ate. He sipped his coffee and lounged in his seat, watching his daughter, and thinking about the day ahead of him. 

Laundry was a must. The stale scent of B.O. wafted up to Mickey’s nostrils, and he knew that it was coming from his shirt. Running out of clean clothes was a staple in the Gallagher-Milkovich home, as both he and Ian were often too frustrated, exhausted, or an unpleasant combination of the two after they got home from work to bother to separate darks and whites. Moni’s laundry was usually made a priority anyway, and the toddler was messy enough to need a constant rotation of clean clothing at her disposal. 

Mickey’s eyes were drawn to the kitchen sink, and the dirty dishes that were piled so high that they were literally cresting over the lip of the sink, overflowing onto the counter. That was next on the list, before flies started to gather. 

Finally his gaze fell back to Moni, and he observed that she had somehow managed to get some cheerios mushed into her hair since he had last looked at her. Mickey grimaced. Ian was right. The kid needed a damn bath. Now. Mickey bumped this task to the top of his list, especially considering how much of a fight he knew the toddler would put up.. If he wanted to get any of his other shit done, and potentially have time to relax in the evening, Mickey was going to have to bite the bullet and endure the inevitable tantrum. 

Moni waved her spoon up in the air, catching Mickey’s attention, “Papa! Where Daddy?” The little girl wondered aloud between the smacking of her lips. 

Mickey tilted his head back to catch the final drops of coffee from the bottom of his cup and then reached a hand out, swiping away the droplets of milk from the bottom of Moni’s chin with his thumb. 

“He had to work today,” Mickey explained to the toddler, smirking to himself as Moni pulled against the highchair straps, leaning away from his attempts to clean her face up. “He’ll be home later.”

“Oh… otay,” Moni nodded matter-of-factly and went back to her cereal. 

“Yep, It’s just you and me today kid,” Mickey sunk back into his seat again and twirled the coffee cup with his fingers, trying to figure out how to broach the subject of bathtime without triggering a full on fucking meltdown. He had been down this particular road one too many times, and it always ended the same way. Mickey watched his daughter’s bare feet kicking against the legs of her highchair as she happily munched away, and an idea began to hatch in his brain. 

Rising from his chair, Mickey made his way over to the sink and somehow managed to balance the empty coffee cup on top of the ridiculous pile of dirty dishes. 

“Be good and finish your cereal, okay?” He swooped in and kissed her forehead before leaving the kitchen and heading back to Moni’s bedroom. Mickey knew Ian would have chewed him out for leaving their daughter to her own devices, if only for a few minutes, but Mickey was certain she couldn’t get up to too much trouble confined to her highchair. Besides, the hairbrained scheme he was conjuring up would never work if the kid was with him while he was putting all of the pieces into place. Upon entering the room, he dropped to his knees next to her toy box and began rummaging through its contents, determined to find the specific item he was after. 

“Where the fuck- Ah, got it!” Mickey muttered triumphantly when his palm ghosted the bristling hairs of the doll he had been searching for. He grabbed the little fucker by the leg and hauled the heavily abused doll from under the pile of toys, holding it up in front of him to double check that this was, in fact, the toy he wanted. The mangled thing looked back at him with one drooping eye and a shudder worked its way up Mickey’s spine; Moni, true to form, did not go easy on her toys, especially the ones she had a particular fondness for. This doll in particular had been a gift from Debbie for Moni’s second birthday, and although the little girl had only had her paws on it for a little over six months, the doll looked to Mickey like it had been the victim of a violent mugging. ‘Poppy’ (as Moni referred to the doll for some reason Mickey couldn’t quite recall) had survived being dropped in the toilet, flung from the deck of their second story walk up, and even gnawed on by a neighborhood dog. Moni sure did love the doll, and Mickey briefly paused to consider if the plan he was formulating was just a tad too harsh. 

Mickey shook the thought out of his head, almost as quickly as it had entered. Nah, if he wanted to get Moni into the bath without instigating a full on shit fit, this was his best bet.  _ Desperate times _ … he mused.  _ You’re shit outta luck today, Poppy _ . Shutting the lid of the toy box, Mickey shifted his focus to the small closet in the corner of the room, eager to find the remaining ingredient to set his plan into motion. Near the very back of the overstuffed closet, jammed behind a box of Yev’s old softball gear, was a half full bottle of red acrylic paint left over from the one time Ian had gotten the bright fuckin idea to let Moni fingerpaint- a day that ended in disaster, suprising no one, least of all Mickey. 

The doll in one hand, and the bottle of paint in the other, Mickey hastily crossed over from Moni’s room to the bathroom, realizing that he needed to pick up his pace because his daughter was no doubt nearing the end of her breakfast and would be clamouring for his attention the second she was done. In the bathroom, Mickey laid the doll down in the bathtub and opened the bottle of paint.  _ Am I really fuckin’ doin’ this? _ He questioned himself one last time, poised over the doll with the bottle half tilted.  _ Looks like it _ . 

And without further ado he turned the bottle upside down, allowing a viscous glop of paint to fall out, landing smack dab in the middle of the dolls unsettling face, spreading out slowly over its eyes, nose and mouth. Mickey had to admit, it was satisfying to intermittently tightened his digits around the bottle, splattering the dolls tangled hair and limbs with the red paint. It briefly dawned on the man that the paint may stain the bottom of the bathtub, adding even more discoloration to the well worn porcelain, but he purposely pushed the thought to the back of his mind until after his daughter was clean. 

Once Mickey was certain that the doll was an irredeemable mess and the bottom of the bathtub looked like an honest to god crime scene, he positioned the paint bottle beside the doll  _ just so  _ and stood in the doorway to the bathroom, taking in the whole scene. Not a convincing enough plot to be featured on Criminal Minds, but Mickey was hoping he was at least smart enough to outwit a two and half year old. 

“Moni!!” He leaned back and bellowed, forcing panic and concern to radiate from the word. “Moni! Holy SHIT!” Mickey set off at a brisk pace back down the hallway and slid into the kitchen. His daughter was regarding him, wide eyed, and Mickey noticed her cereal bowl was flipped upside down on the table, a few stay Cheerios and a pool of milk dripping over the side of the high chair tray. His mouth dropped open to reprimand her for making a mess ( _ again _ ), but he quickly stopped himself, adding the tray to the growing list of things that needed to be cleaned after the child herself.

“Moni you gotta come help me!” Mickey said urgently, swooping in by the toddler’s side to begin disentangling her from the trap of the high chair. Unclipping her harness, he extricated Moni from her seat, all the while spinning his yarn. 

“Poppy made a huge mess in the bathroom!” The whole convoluted idea centered around the toddler’s belief that her toys were in fact alive and able to get themselves into shit; a concept Mickey and Ian exploited more often than they really would like to admit. 

“Poppy?!” The little girl trilled, grasping at her father’s shoulders as he carried her hastily towards the bathroom. Her favorite playmate seemed to always be getting into trouble. 

“Yeah Moni, she’s in pretty bad shape! You have to help me clean her up!” Mickey expertly shoved the little pang of guilt aside, produced by his daughter’s worried expression.  _ This is a little fucked up _ , he conceded. But it was too late to turn back now. 

Moni let out a shriek when she finally laid eyes upon her favorite doll, lying prone on the floor of the bathtub, hair matted with the thick red paint; it had been an ugly thing before, but now it looked like something out of a nightmare. 

“Poppy! Poppyyyyyyy!” She wailed when Mickey plopped her down on the edge of the bathtub and swiftly snatched up the bottle of paint he had placed beside the doll in order to frame her, setting the half empty container down beside his feet. 

“See what I mean, Mon?!” Mickey sat next to his daughter on the ledge, and the toddler gaped at the mess in front of her, clearly concerned for the recovery of her doll. “Will you help me clean ‘er up?” He prompted. The toddler nodded furiously. 

Mickey forced back a smug grin.  _ This shit may work after all. _

“A’right, so here’s what’s gonna go down kid,” Mickey stooped and pinched the doll by the leg, which was incidentally the only part of the toy that wasn’t covered in paint. He peeled the doll from the bottom of the bathtub, the motion accompanied by a stomach-churning  _ squelching _ noise and a dramatic gasp from the toddler. “We’re gonna rinse Poppy off under the tap, and then we’re gonna give ‘er a bath to finish cleaning ‘er off, sound good?” Mickey knew for a fact that all the water in Lake Michigan couldn’t have saved the doll from being trashed, but Moni didn’t know that, and as long as her ass ended up in the bathtub he was willing to pull the wool over her eyes. 

“Hurry Papa!” Moni squealed, urging Mickey on with the frantic waving of her arms, while he fumbled one handed with the faucet taps, trying to find the right hot/cold water ratio that wouldn’t scald the little girl once she joined in on the clean up. 

Now came the tricky part. How to get Moni out of her clothes and in the tub without the kid wising up to his tactics. He really should have given this part more thought beforehand, but in classic Milkovich form, Mickey was making this shit up as he went. Idly, he splashed some water from the faucet onto the globs of red paint still plastered to the bottom of the bathtub, and was pleased to see them swirl down the drain, leaving only a pale stain in their wake. 

Mickey decided to just go for it. “Alright babyface, let’s get those clothes off.” 

Moni’s features immediately scrunched together in suspicion. “How come?” She questioned her father, folding her arms across her chest defiantly.

“Don’t wanna get your clothes all wet when you’re washing Poppy do ya?” Mickey shot back on the fly. “Plus Poppy ain’t got clothes on- might make her feel better if she’s not the only one.” He wasn’t too sure if appealing to the toddler’s compassion was the right route, but it seemed to be a satisfying enough explanation for her, for the time being. 

Moni always fought like hell when putting her clothes on, but she never appeared to have qualms about taking them off, usually deciding to do so at the most inappropriate times. It had happened on one too many occasions that Mickey and Ian had to scramble to drag a screaming half naked toddler out of a very public place, and somehow find a new way to explain to her that ‘our clothes stay  _ on _ in public, Moni’. Regardless, Mickey was happy for her propensity for undressing in the current situation, as he only had to reach out with his free hand a few times to help his daughter free herself from her clothing. 

“Ya ready?” Mickey inquired once her clothes were discarded in a little pile on the floor. 

“Yep! Coming Poppy!” Moni exclaimed and slid herself into the bathtub. Mickey’s chest physically hurt from suppressing a bubble of laughter as he watched his daughter squat on her haunches and  _ duck-walk _ closer to the running faucet. Once she determined that she was close enough to the water, Moni reached out her arms, grasping towards Mickey, and the man offered the paint-drenched doll to her. 

“Poppy, you are  _ bad _ !” Moni chastised her doll sternly, before thrusting the toy under the running water. She continued her babbling admonishments as the red paint streamed off of Poppy’s plastic skin and swirled down the drain. “ Mickey snorted in amusement and reached behind her for the little bottle of off brand no-tangle kid’s shampoo that sat in the alcove of the shower wall next to Ian’s half empty bottle of Head and Shoulders 2in1 that Mickey had been using since he kept on forgetting to pick up more Old Spice. 

Mickey noticed Moni eyeing him suspiciously, her brows drawn together as she worked her fingers through Poppy’s tangled, paint-matted hair.  _ Play it cool, Milkovich _ , Mickey schooled himself, keeping as neutral of an expression as he could muster.  _ If she catches on too early, all hell’s gonna break loose. _

“Gotta give ‘er hair a wash kiddo,” Mickey passed off his actions nonchalantly and the toddler facial features seemed to relax. Squeezing a dollop of shampoo into his palm. Mickey’s tattooed hands joined Moni’s tiny ones in the doll’s hair. He began massaging the shampoo into Poppy’s straw like locks, working the substance up into a red-tinted lather, which quickly overtook both sets of hands.

After a few moments of washing Poppy under the faucet, the majority of the larger globs of paint had been washed down the drain, and Mickey figured it was now or never if he wanted to get Moni into an actual bath before his hair turned grey. 

“Ya know what I think?” Mickey began, reaching for the rubber stopper at the edge of the tub as casually as possible. 

“What papa?” 

“I’m startin’ to think Poppy needs a  _ real _ bath…”

Moni furrowed her brow at this and let herself flop down onto her bum, holding the doll out in front of her and regarding it carefully. Mickey felt a little pinch in his gut at the state of the doll- it looked even more pitiful now than it had before.  _ It was fucked to begin with _ , he reassured himself.  _ I’ll get her a new one _ . 

“A  _ reaallll _ baf?” The toddler repeated her father’s words, putting emphasis on the word ‘real’ just as he had. 

“Yep. That’s the only way we’re gonna be able to get all the paint outta Poppy’s hair. Let’s fill up the tub and then you can help me give ‘er a bath!” Mickey forced enthusiasm into his voice as he plugged up the drain and water began slowly filling up the bathtub, wishing on a goddamn star that the toddler wouldn’t put two and two together until he could at least give her a good scrub down. This plan of his was no wheres near foolproof; Moni may have only been two and a half, but she was the furthest thing from an imbecile, and at some point Mickey knew the little girl was bound to notice that this was all a rouse orchestrated by her father to get her washed and shampooed. 

Mickey braced himself for the other shoe to drop as the water slowly rose up over Moni’s body inch by inch; however, he breathed a tentative sigh of relief upon seeing that the toddler was entirely preoccupied with the doll in her hands, murmuring sweet nothings to the ugly thing as the water engulfed them both. This emboldened Mickey enough to pick up the shampoo bottle once again and flip the cap. He held the bottle over the dolls head, and allowed another drizzle of shampoo to leak out. Moni’s attention was pulled from Poppy at this, and when she raised her round little face up at him, Mickey shot both eyebrows up to hairline, nodding towards the doll. 

“Get washin’, halfpint!” He instructed, and Moni began scrunching up the dolls soapy hair in her fists, which appeared to be ineffective at getting out any more of the color that was clearly stained into Poppy’s plastic scalp. Mickey paused for a moment, listening to the old pipes in the bathroom walls audible groan from the water pressure coursing through them as the tub continued to fill. Silently, he twisted the taps, putting a stop to the water, and watched his daughter intently working away, muttering to herself about how ‘bad’ and ‘messy’ Poppy was. 

Once he was convinced that Moni was thoroughly engrossed in what she was doing, Mickey slowly raised the shampoo bottle once again, glancing at her every once and a while to make sure she really wasn’t paying attention. He squeezed a larger dollop of the liquid into his hand, and indulged himself in a private moment of disbelief at what he had been reduced to, in just a few short years; from ball-bustin’ Southside ex-con to a doting ‘ _ daddy-daycare _ ’ type motherfucker, who was quaking in his boots at the thought of yet  _ another _ tantrum. He did not regret the transformation, not for one second. Nevertheless, it was still hard to wrap his head around every once and awhile.

_ Stop stalling _ , Mickey chided himself internally.  _ Bite the damn bullet _ . 

And so he did. Mickey scooped up a handful of water from the bathtub and hastily let it pour over Moni’s head, before practically attacking the toddler's damp hair with his shampoo covered hand. 

Instantly, Moni’s tiny frame went rigid, and Mickey knew the jig was up.  _ Shit _ . Hurriedly he scrubbed the shampoo into her hair, hoping against all hope that by some miracle he could go fast enough to keep the impending meltdown at bay. He could feel Moni coiling up beneath his touch like a spring.

The shit had officially hit the fan. 

“NO!” Moni screeched, her voice sharp enough to pierce glass. She yanked her head away from Mickey’s hands and swivelled in the water, the features of her little face screwed together. “NO! It Poppy’s baf time!” The toddler insisted frantically, shoving the doll in front her like a shield. 

Mickey tried his best to remain level headed, despite how red Moni’s was face growing minute by minute. “Nah, come on kid, just let me-” He moved to pull her back towards him, but the little hellion scrunched up further against the side of the bathtub, causing a swell of water to lap up dangerously close to the edge of the tub.

Mickey sucked an exasperated breath through his nostrils and let it out of his mouth in a rush before contemplating his next move. This was a game of chess now; a very wet, soapy chess game against an unpredictable opponent. Unfortunately Mickey had never even  _ watched _ someone play a game of chess in his whole damn life. And he always lost at checkers. 

“Please Moni,” Mickey hoped he sounded soothing rather than desperate as he attempted to reach for her once again, “all we gotta do is get you clean, I swear I’ll be quick-“ 

“NO PAPA! NO!” Moni lashed out at his advances, flinging the doll in his direction before Mickey had a chance to deflect it. It hit him solidly in the chest, successingfully knocking the wind out of his lungs, and fell back into the water with a loud splash.

Father and child regarded each other with equally wide eyes, as Mickey caught his breath and felt the all too familiar fingers of vexation creeping up the back of his neck. Moni had this way of driving him directly up the fucking wall. She was the most hard headed kid he had ever encountered, and while Mickey knew he would literally jump in front of an oncoming train for her without a second thought, it didn’t stop her from being able to push every single one of his buttons from time to time. This was apparently one of those times. 

“' _ Ey _ !” Mickey reprimanded the toddler, and when reflecting back later he would realize that the word had escaped him much more loudly and harshly than he had intended. “ _ Don’t _ throw things, you hear me?!” 

At that point he made his final mistake, placing the last idiotic cherry on the stupid decisions cake. Mickey’s hands shot out and wrapped around the toddler’s wrists, pulling her through the water towards him. Moni’s shrill scream erupted out of her with alarming intensity. She had quite the set of lungs on her. 

“Why are you screamin’ so damn loud!” Mickey hissed, half to the toddler, half to himself, “It’s a bath, Moni! You’d think I was torturing you or some sh-“ 

His rant was cut short as the toddler began to thrash wildly in his grip, coating the sounding surfaces in foamy bath water. Mickey held his breath and when he felt the water soak the front of his shirt, and quickly counted down from 10 in his head, which was some dumb shit Ian’s therapist had told him to do once when he was ‘feeling overwhelmed’. It seemed like bullshit. But it usually worked a little. 

And perhaps it would have this time as well, if Moni had not spastically kicked her legs at him with all the might in her little body, sending an even larger wave of water careening over the lip of the bathtub. Half of the contents of the bathtub crashed into Mickey with a surprising weight, this time managing to drench the  _ entire _ front of his shirt and his face as well, causing his eyes to sting from the soapy water. As a knee jerk reaction, he sprung back away from Moni. 

“FUCK,” Mickey yelped, his voice strained with shock and frustration. The next events happened so quickly, he thought he may have found a small tear in the space time continuum. 

When he eventually managed to pry his eyes open through the water and traces of soap that trickled down his face, his heart nearly dropped out his ass. There his daughter was, her little body perched with one knee up on the ledge. She wrestled with the slippery porcelain, clearly planning on taking advantage of the distraction she had made, using it to haul herself out of the dreaded bath. 

“Moni, stop-“ It was far too late for intervention. Mickey leaped forward, but missed the toddler by a hair as she launched her body off of the ledge, and tumbled to the bathroom floor, landing face down into the tiles. 

Her dripping body was in Mickey’s arms and being cradled into his chest before she could even choke out the first broken sob. Panic swelled in Mickey’s body, as he covered the back of Moni’s head with his hand, the bloody murder she was screaming barely muffled by his soaking t-shirt.

“Shit shit shit shit,” Mickey whispered like a mantra as he sunk back to lean against the bathtub, curling himself around the weeping toddler. “Oh Jesus, Moni, baby- let me look.” 

Her head was pressed to Mickey so tightly that he felt as if she was super glued to him as he attempted to gently pry her head up, so Moni could not only take a breath but also so that he could assess the damage. 

Cupping her cheeks with both hands, Mickey brought her little face into his line of vision and felt his gut churn when he saw the little trickle of blood coming from the nick in the otherwise flawless skin of her forehead. His eyes shifted to the small split in her lip, clearly caused by the newest bottom teeth that had come in only a few months before, and that Ian always took fuckin 10 minutes to brush every night before bed. 

Moni took a momentary pause in her bawling, and regarded Mickey with such a look of betrayal that he felt like withering up on the spot. She resumed her crying moments later, fat tears dripping down her cheeks and chin. Mickey didn’t know what else to do but to hug her tighter and rock them both in a steady rhythm, hushing her morose wails and promising, “I’ve got you, I’m right here, I’m so sorry.” 

_ Well you couldn’t have fucked that one up more if you tried, dipshit, _ Mickey cursed himself.  _ So much for outsmarting a toddler.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Awww, he tried, bless him.  
> Chapter 2 Is currently in the works! I promise it has a much happier ending than this chapter!  
> Kudos and comments make my day and make me want to write more! <3


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